


Perun

by Anathash



Series: Like Changing Seasons [2]
Category: Cardcaptor Sakura
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Slavic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Smut, we are going into the war my dudes buckle up and read the trigger warnings when i make them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathash/pseuds/Anathash
Summary: Forced, King Robert and his army make a move. Once again, perhaps for the last time the armies of the West and the North are about to clash. This time Emperor Xiao Lang has an Empress by his side, and the Mistress of the Clow can make a big difference on the battlefield.Meanwhile on another front Princess Feimei Li conquers the Northern Wave and begins to make deals with the current leaders of the region, mainly Galene Strom, eldest daughter of King Robert.In Aegean, the Capital of Wave, Princess Sava Strom has to choose between the future of her bloodline and her sisters’ lives.
Relationships: Kinomoto Sakura/Li Syaoran
Series: Like Changing Seasons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1086768
Comments: 24
Kudos: 38





	Perun

**Author's Note:**

> Perun (Перýн) the highest god of the slavic pantheon, the god of sky, thunder, lightning, storms, rain, law, fertility and war. He was (by some accounts) the son of Svarog, the husband of Mokosh, and the mirror image of the god Veles. He resides high in the branches of the World tree, watching over his domain.

**tw: graphic descriptions of death, blood, mentions of torture**

It’s a bright, sunny morning. Sunshine engulfs the whole courtyard, every tree, sunstone and grass leaf. The waves hit the rocks meters below the castle, and despite the endless cold ocean one can still feel the heat in the air. 

Sava missed the summer, or as she soon realized, she missed what summers used to be rather than the season itself. So she did what her father always did for them, had a table set up for a tea outside. It isn't even remotely how it always was, not without her elder sisters, but it helped. At least her younger sisters can feel some sort of normality. 

Ondine is the only one old enough to understand, the only one who wears black with Sava. Melusine is still too young, had only been two when she last saw Viviane. The beautiful, regal Viviane, a sister who was meant to be a Queen. A sister who perished at Empire’s orders. 

"Sister look! A frog!" 

The screech Ondine lets out does everything to put a shadow over Melusine’s happy yelp as she runs to them, a large yellow frog seemingly calm in her tiny hands.

Sava laughs, nearly letting a cup of tea slip from her fingers. She manages to put it down before Ondine clings to the back of her chair, putting her elder sister in front of her younger one. Mel laughs happily at her sister’s horror, raising the frog even higher and wiggling the animal towards her. 

Her own laughter, the screeches and the frog itself startle the youngest princess for only but a moment. Thaleia, not even a year old sits in her basket, surrounded by pillows in case she falls back. Her white blonde hair is kept under a light hat to keep her young skin from sunlight. She gargles at them, as if responding to her sisters. 

"Sava, make her stop!"

But Sava allows herself to laugh some more. It has been so long since she truly did, she doesn't want to stop now. What's the point? Ondine will still be scared of the frog, probably even drop her adult act this evening and ask to be tucked in. Mel is looking so carefree, her dress is ruined already but her smile is so wide. Thankfully Sava predicted it, making sure it was pulled from the bottom of her wardrobe, nothing more than linen. 

Finally, when the frog looks about as mortified as Ondine, she bids her little sister to set the poor animal free and stop scaring her sister. 

"Let it go, Mel." 

Melusine’s upper lip curls up in a snarl that looks adorable on her puffy rosy cheeks. 

"But I found it! I wanna take it home!" 

Ondine gasps. 

"You can’t take that thing!"

"I found it! I will!" 

Tears gather in her eyes, Melusine is still just a child after all. She reminds her that the world still can be gentle. So Sava leans in, a smile still on her face, her tone as gentle as it can be. 

"Mel, maybe the frog already has a home, have you thought about that?"

Melusine blinks, her big blue eyes widen as the thought appears to her for the first time. She looks at the frog, brows knitted. Miraculously, the animal looks back, still not wiggling in her hands. 

"Do you have a home sir Frog?"

She continues to stare at it, and the frog lets out a long ribbit. That does it, the little princess nods, tight curls of her pigtails hitting her cheeks. 

"I am sorry I took you sir Frog. I wouldn’t want to be separated from my sisters too." 

With that, she gives the frog one more pat and lets it go. Ondine's audible sigh can be heard clearly. 

Sometimes Sava wonders if Mel will grow up to be a mage. To some degree, every member of the royal family is gifted with a connection to the sea. Some, like her brothers, learned to utilize that connection on the battlefield, others like her elder sisters, learned to unleash its healing properties. Sava only ever heard its call, nothing more than that. 

"Your Highness."

A guard, Philippe, comes to their table, and by the urgency in his features, she knows that the soft tone is used only so he doesn’t startle her sisters. He is a younger man, barely thirty years of age, and has been taking care of Princesses’ security since Sava was five. He has been guarding them for more than half her life.

"The Queen wishes to see you."

Her mother never wished to see her, nor any of her daughters for that matter. 

Sava asks the handmaidens to take care of her sisters and promises to be back before Thaleia’s nap. They make their way out of the courtyard and into the shade of the castle, making sure it would look like they are heading up into the Queen’s tower. Sava opens the door to a sitting room on the first floor instead, knowing full well that the servants in this wing would tell no soul even if they were to overhear. 

"A messenger came this morning." 

Philippe says, and Sava quirks her brow. She remembers telling everyone to bring any messengers to her no matter the hour. 

"And why wasn't he brought to me?"

"He was intercepted by one of the Queen’s servants."

Sava curses silently. She looks out of the open window, observing the waves. She still wondered how her mother had any servants left at her disposal. The majority followed Galene’s lead at her father's behest, and since her unlawful banishment from Aegean*, they migrated to the next eldest Princess, and that was Sava. At times it had been too much for the young Princess, but the attention, the information, and the responsibility often kept her sane. Kept the rest of her sisters alive. 

"Do we know anything at least?"

There are some in that gods’ forsaken tower that are still loyal to her, some that are able to tell her what is going on. It’s mostly her asking of Arthur’s health, but sometimes they brought other information as well. 

"Yes. The Empire took Storm's Keep."

Storm’s Keep, the Easternmost castle in the Southern part of the Kingdom. A strategic point of entry to their lands. Garlan always told her, didn’t he? That this war isn’t lost if they still hold Storm’s Keep. And now they didn’t. But that also meant that their armies could be back on land. How did they get over Yarha so quickly?

"How are they over Yarha already?" 

Philip shakes his head. 

"No, they are not. But few of their men blew up the bridge. Our armies are trapped."

Trapped… A mare what? Ten thousand? Against at least double the men. And the Clow forces aren’t tired, their men still not ravaged by that war, the morale high among them, having their Kingdom become an independent ally to the Empire. A statement that not many could say nowadays. Not to mention that their beloved Princess, the pride of their nation is now the Empress, they will fight for her more than for the Empire. 

The only comforting thought she kept were the reports of sickness among the Imperial soldiers, the disease taking men as well as horses. Apparently, they lost many doctors to this war. Maybe this will be just the advantage they needed. 

Sava supposed she knew for some time now. Ever since news of Viviane came. She knew this war would not be won. At least not by them. 

"Oh, gods!"

She drops onto the chair closest to her, gripping the armrest tightly. Her blue eyes scan the room unseeing as she tries to process what she has just heard. In the end, she rests her forehead in her open palm and closes her eyes. 

"Your Highness, there is more."

Sava opens her eyes, and looks at Philip, who, as she now realizes looks apologetic again, his sorrow much deeper than before. Dread grips her body anew. 

"The news just got to us. The Empire has split their armies. One half is now on the front with the Emperor, but the latter, following his sister, came through the Floating Mountains." Sava shakes her head, predicting the dreadful news Philipe is about to tell her. "They are laying siege on Mountain Hold."

Sava wants to break, already failing to keep the tears at bay, pushing her hand into her cheeks, struggling to contain her breath. It can’t be happening again, she can’t lose Galene, not after Viv. Not this way, not to this pointless war. 

"Your Highness, I am so sorry." 

A minute before Sava would take that kindness gladly, would collect herself at a moment’s notice and try to spend the rest of the day pretending like everything is alright in front of her siblings. But now she can’t. Not with the imminent threat to Galene’s life. She just wants to break. Let it all out.

"Please, please get out Phillipe. I want to be alone." 

She doesn’t see him nod, or bow, she just hears his footsteps on the marble floors, a slight click of the door, and just like that she is alone. The tears fall freely now, as her breath becomes more and more hectic to the point when she is gulping up every breath she takes. 

Father always said that the Stroms are the children of the ocean and as such, they would never drown. In that moment, with her breath rapid and her lungs on fire Sava would have to disagree. 

  
  
  


Thunder roars, deafening in the sky. But Sakura isn't afraid of it. She counts the seconds since the tent lights up until she hears the thunderclap. Eleven this time. She waits until another one, and repeats the process. It’s a mindless task that keeps her head out of her current situation. Keeps her nerves from taking over her body completely. 

Sakura’s cloak is soaked. The velvet heavy on her shoulders. But none seek comfort tonight. Certainly not the royal pair. Syaoran wants to pace. If he could, he would already be walking back and forth, wall to wall. And Sakura would be watching him like one would watch sand in an hourglass. Frankly, she would prefer it over the constant pattern of his gloved fingers on the wood of his chair. 

They have opted out of the Council's tent, instead taking up a vacant one on the edge of the camp, setting up only wooden thrones for Syaoran and her, placing candles to lighten the room up. No one wanted for the envoy to have a chance of assessing the numbers, or seeing even a glimpse of the plans. 

The whole tent is on edge. The Generals are pacing. Touya is speaking with Amir, his eyes glancing at her every so often. Prince Hideo is having a hushed conversation with General Tsukinawa. Even Ruby is present, glued to her Master’s side. 

Sakura takes Syaoran’s hand, even if only for the pattern to stop. 

The Emperor looks at her briefly, making no attempts at a comforting smile. Instead, he squeezes her hand tightly. It does little to comfort them, but at least they know they have each other. They have the numbers. They have strategies. Nothing is lost yet. She can tell herself that they have all the advantages in the world, and it still wouldn’t put her at ease. 

The messenger is brought into the tent, protected by the white flag folded in his hands. It takes Sakura a moment to realize who is standing in front of them. She has only seen him a handful of times in her life, but there is no mistaking those azure eyes so unique to the Strom bloodline. Prince Garlan, heir to the throne of Wave, and by all accounts his father’s most precious asset is standing before them. 

Sakura remembers him. From the times before the war. He was sixteen then. The entire royal household, hence two of Robert’s daughters that haven’t been presented to the society, have come to Touya’s engagement ball. He had already been tall for his age and fairly handsome. He would ask her to dance with him almost every other dance. She was thirteen at the time, and her focus was solely on her studies as a mage and a trader. The attention was nice though as was the correspondence that came after, although short-lived, due to his sudden confession of affection. Sakura remembers her father’s face becoming grim when she came to discuss it with him. He said only that he already had a far more eligible bachelor selected for her, and that they will speak about it when she is ready. The following year the war broke out. And nor Garlan nor her potential betrothal were ever discussed again. She remembered thinking who would be more eligible than the Crown Prince of a neighboring country. She supposed that her husband is just that. 

The man who is looking at her now, is nothing like her memories. Dark hair wet and slicked back, light eyes cold and poised. He wears the blue tones of his House under the chainmail. And even if he has just walked into the den of wolves, protected only by a white flag folded in his hands, he doesn’t look scared. 

"Garlan." 

The Emperor greets from her right, shifting his weight to the side, resting a cheek on his gloved hand. His whole demeanor changes almost instantly. She sees him so rare now, the Emperor. 

"Xiao Lang." 

The Prince greets back. 

"Let’s go over it again, shall we?"

Syaoran says, his tone low. He looks at Garlan, elbows rested on the armrests, hands clasped in front of him. Sakura takes her hand from the armrest, missing the reassuring clasp of his hand, and folds her hands in her lap. 

"Has anything changed since the last time we met?" 

"Well, for starters we have no House of Tide to include in the process." Sakura goes stiff momentarily, as does the Prince. She tries, and hopefully doesn’t fail to hide her surprise at the remark. "Besides that it is all the same. Surrender, give me your father’s head, and maybe I will consider setting you and your brothers up to live the rest of your life comfortably in exile. Your sisters will be spared of course, married into loyal Houses, and that would be it."

Garlan looks at them for a moment, glances to the gathered, but his eyes omit Sakura deliberately. Silently she hopes it stays this way, if he even touches on the subject it would surely cause a drift in her and Syaoran’s relationship. Even if she knows he trusts her to some degree, she isn’t willing to risk it. Yet, he doesn’t say anything about the matter, his eyes roam the gathering, as he makes a show of thinking the terms over. When he finally comes back to Syaoran he says: 

"And I shall decline, as I always to."

Syaoran smirks, and Sakura can hear a few of the Lords scoff. It seems that the Emperor and the Prince have their own set of weird traditions. 

"I see Robert hasn’t omitted the tradition of sending you here." It’s this fake amusement Sakura hears in his tone, the smirk as cynical as it gets. "How have you been?"

Sakura watches Garlan’s reaction, a brief change in his facial expression; it seemed that whatever that meant struck a chord. 

"Burying sister after sister it seems."

There is anger clear as day in his tone, a bite to every word he says. Syaoran's expression hardens in return, features stiffening even more than before even if he doesn't let a scowl come through. 

"You have your father to thank. An eye for an eye, Garlan."

She has never asked about it, she realizes. The massacre of House Tide, maybe she was scared he would say it was a necessity, and even if she understood that more now, she couldn’t brush it off. With his mask steadily on she is barely able to pick up the slight traces of uneasiness, or so she thinks. 

"And the world goes blind."

Garlan responds dryly. Syaoran smirks again, this time more genuine. 

"Have you been reading in your spare time?"

His wit is dry, but Syaoran although a bit rough, never is one to ridicule. Perhaps the Emperor liked to rile up his enemies. 

"Don’t mock me."

Garlan sneers, and Syaoran sighs quietly in response, his smirk falling with the gesture. The Emperor gets up, and suddenly the whole tent shifts, even Sakura flinches in her seat. He stops a pace before Garlan, the latter not moving from his spot. Syaoran is a good head shorter than the Prince, and she imagines for any other man it would be a feat to look imposing while looking up. But Syaoran knows his strengths, and he knows how to look dignified in every situation.

"Your eldest sister’s bones are being transported to Aegean as we speak."

There isn’t any bite to his words, tone calm, not in the slightest bit emotional. Sakura looks at Garlan, who for a second raises his brows, mouth opening slightly to say something before he stops himself. Sakura didn’t even know there were bones left to bury of Viviane Tide nee Strom. She is said to have burned in the keep, with her sister-in-law, that her screams still hunted the Capitol. Some say that if you close your eyes on a windy night you can still hear them. 

"This is the last courtesy I am doing to your family." The Emperor continues, tone still calm, but there is a growing edge to his words. Where there was indifference now resided a cruel type of strength. "Mark my words, I will not do the same with your body. You, I shall parade in front of your father like a goddamn trophy."

Sakura bites her cheek to contain a quiet gasp. Why is she so surprised? She knew what the Thunder Wolf was. Yet she separated him so much from her husband she forgot they are one and the same. This is what he is to his enemies. To the ones threatening his rule, his family, the stability of the Empire. He will make threats, and he will do well on them to protect their family.

"Don’t threaten me." 

Garlan answers, his expression hardened, gaze of stone set on Syaoran as his mouth curls into a snarl. The difference strikes her the most then. Garlan with height and girth, Syaoran with his lean physique. Garlan with hot boiling rage and Syaoran with his calm hatred. So similar yet so different. The heir of a Kingdom on the edge of falling, and the conquer following revenge. In another life, they could have been good friends. In this one, however, one will die by the other’s hand.

"Me, me, me…" Syaoran muses. "This is not a threat. It is a promise. We are at war, how many sisters do you have to lose to realize that?" 

Garlan snaps at that. 

"Be careful so you are not the one burying his sisters here."

Syaoran chuckles, the sound so unexpected and out of place it almost startles the whole tent. 

"That’s the attitude, Garlan. Yet I am thrilled to say all of my sisters would have you dead before you could draw a sword." 

Sakura can’t see his face from her place behind him, but she can bet her Clow there is this fake smirk on his lips. Garlan answers with one of his own, but the falsehood of it can be judged by the fact that it doesn’t reach his eyes in any capacity. 

"Perhaps."

Syaoran turns around, going back to his seat, face stiff now that he faces her again. It changes, loosens up as soon as he turns around to sit back down on the throne. Everything is meant to feel organic, laid back, nonchalant even. All a mask. So they don’t know how seriously he treats it in reality. How much it weighs him. 

"It was a great peace talk, Garlan. I will see you at dawn, again." 

"Of course; you will."

Garlan’s eyes finally fall on her, as if he hasn’t been avoiding her gaze the entire time. There is little of that boy she knew, and she suspects there is little left of that girl he knew too. There is a moment in which she fears he may say something, a pause in his steps back, an open stare he gives her. Maybe he reminiscents on what could have been if she agreed then. Sakura can only imagine that it would be her head next to his. That she would be dead at the hands of a man she came to care for. 

"Empress Sakura, it’s a relief to see you in good health."

He says finally, his eyes quite cold, but there is something in his voice, something she wishes would disappear. 

"Likewise, Prince Garlan."

She greets back, her voice calm, her palm resting openly on the armrest of Syaoran’s throne. Not a second passes and the fingers of his palm brush against hers, his grip a bit tight, but at least he holds her. 

Garlan could have said something more, he could destroy what she has now with one simple lie. Syaoran would say he believes her, but the seed of doubt would be sawed. He doesn’t, whether unaware of the devastation he could bring, or simply not interested in the turmoil. 

In the end, he leaves without a second look. The tent immediately erupts into a buzz, discussions starting left and right. And Sakura doesn’t release the tight hold she keeps on Syaoran's hand through it all.

  
  
  


The bells are ringing, the noise loud even this far from the castle, carrying across the valley and way into the mountains above. It's a call of surrender, only amplified by the white flags replacing the dark sigils of House Lavey. 

The Mountain Hold is a sight to behold. Rising on a steep cliff, surrounded by forests at the foot of the Mountain chain. The valley, being the only entrance into and out of the Mountain chain in approximately 100 miles, is heavily enforced with gates spreading as far as the castle and enclosing the small city located at its feet. 

It is their way of moving forward. 

And now, as she looks at the smoking walls and half-burned roofs, Feimei knows that she is one step closer to achieving her goal. The northern part of Wave belongs to the Empire now. 

"Are you ready Feimei?" 

Weisheng is standing beside her, a hand securely on her shoulder. It's really the highest form of intimacy he has allowed himself to give amongst their soldiers. Feimei looks to her husband, her hand still clutching her necklace tightly. It has been a source of comfort these past few months. 

There is little to none conventional beauty in Weisheng. His nose has been at least thrice broken, his jaw is too harsh and wide even by man’s standards and the arch of his brow is bulky and low. Not to mention he is ten years her senior. Yet his eyes are bluer than the sky above their heads, and his soft black curls are barely held back. Those eyes had drawn her to him years ago, when she started seeing him as a man, not another face in the castle, certainly not her father’s prodigy. It's his brilliance with the sword and acknowledgment of her own power, her own will, that have solidified her feelings for him enough to say yes when he asked. 

Father was never so elated to give a daughter away. 

"I am. Will you gather the Lords?"

Weisheng nods, without a doubt noticing the way she holds onto the necklace. He doesn't say a word about it, he never does. Her husband's support has always been silent but infinite. 

He moves back a second later, leaving her on the edge of the camp, mountain hale cursing through her unbraided hair. Feimei opens up her palm, hoping the sight of the fang will give her more courage than the simple feeling of it. It’s old, cast in gold almost a century ago. A sign of power that belonged on a chain weighting her brother’s back. 

It became a promise, a sign of his belief in her. 

She remembers the day she found her little brother clutching their father’s body even if she wishes for the memory to haze. She will never shake those days out of her mind. Her father, her beloved papa, gone. His blood everywhere, soaking through the fabric of her skirts, his body cooling to her touch. Fudie tried to get Xiao Lang to get up, tried to get him away from the body, to no avail. Fudie always took care of them, all of them, for years the heir, she took responsibility over Syaoran as soon as he came to the world, and even in such circumstances, when her own strength was failing she tried to be strong for her siblings. Feimei hugged them both instead. Eventually all of them, all of Xiong Lang’s children were kneeling next to their father as his body cooled down. 

She remembers the funeral through a haze. Only the deafening ringing of cathedral bells. The heat of her father's pyre. The shape of her brother's back, muscles tense under a black cape, trying to keep himself from shaking. Her first instinct was to go to him, but her mother tightened the grip on her wrist. A reminder that it was no longer her place. The loud chant of ‘The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor!’ echoed throughout the capital as every citizen, common and noble alike fell onto their knees. 

He was seventeen when he brought back a beast of a black wolf from his hunt. _Black is a sign of greatness,_ Fudie told her as she held her hand on the Keep’s courtyard, looking down onto the pavilion below through the thick, dark lace of her veil. 

It was the day they started losing their baby brother too. 

Each one of the Imperial Princesses thought they were prepared for that day, thought they knew what to do the day their brother became the Emperor. None of them thought it would happen so. None predicted the gruesome death of their father, none predicted the war that followed.

And only Feimei was there to save whatever was left of their little brother. 

They have always been close, Xiao Lang and her. 

She was the only sister that was young enough to train with him, share lessons with him, play the same games as him. And as every one of Li sisters, she too doted on her little brother. Of course, they loved to tease each other, loved to fight, pick sides, and beat the living crap out of each other during and outside of training. But lay a hand on one of them and you are sure to bring down the rest. They were a pack, now and always.

So she followed him. All of the sisters wanted to go, all burned for revenge, but only Feimei was free of any obligations. Feimei didn’t have children and lands to manage like Fudie and Shiefa, didn’t hold a seat on the Council like Fanran. Feimei is a soldier through and through, and as such she is the rage of all the sisters combined. And the worry of all of them. 

She is the only sister who saw their brother slowly morph into something else. 

Xiao Lang has always been stoic, ever since boyhood; serious, intelligent, and competent. But he was never ruthless, harsh and reckless at times, yes, but never ruthless. It was scary at first, to see her younger brother forced into such decisions, matters of life and death. It was scarier to see him slip into that role without pushback. He felt more and more distant as the months passed and their enemies were fewer and fewer. She didn’t fully grasp the change until House Tide was gone. Worse of all, she wasn’t sad, nor disappointed, instead she began to understand. The boy she knew as her brother wouldn't last a second on that throne. It would swallow him whole and leave only a broken puppet behind. This way at least, he was alive, sane, in control. 

So she stuck with him, through every ruthless decision, through every tough call he had to make. She supported him, was there for him to vent, or to knock some sense into him when she felt he was off his rocker. And she intended to stay by his side, until he decided that she shouldn’t. 

They were in a meeting, the old, worn map of the continent their father commissioned years ago laid on the big mahogany table barely large enough to hold it. They were still in Lindow, the once great capital of the Riverdale Kingdom. It has been weeks since the battle, weeks since the last remnants of House Tide had died. Weeks since Feimei arranged to fill their crypt with the remains they had. Weeks after she laid what had been left of Princess Viviane of House Strom into a mahogany coffin she had transported onto a ship. Xiao Lang was as unbent as she was on the matter, to send her bones to Aegean where they belong. If the situation was reversed they would have liked the same courtesy. 

Now they were planning.

Robert was regrouping, the blow of losing Riverdale on top of Bohemia and Velenia could have been his last wake up call. But wars were lost with bigger advantages, and they both knew to be careful. 

Xiao Lang looked so tired, truth be told she hadn’t seen him rested or happy since their father died. He aged eight years instead of two, sometimes he seemed older than her even. At that point though the words ‘get some rest’ had lost all meaning. No one could fully force him into rest, not even their mother. So Feimei had stopped trying. 

"I want to divide the troops." he said, eyes focused on the map. Xiao Lang reached his hand for one of the wolf figurines, representing their house and troops. "Send four, maybe five thousand through Yin. The rest of us will go through the passage between the Floating Mountains and the Clow."

A sound plan, yet it left some questions unanswered. Those he knew she would ask. 

"Will King Abel agree?"

Feimei repositioned herself in the chair, hands grasping a wooden figurine of a wolf, simply to occupy her hands, fingers tracing the carvings.

"We will see in a week, I have already written to him." 

_Of course you have._

Feimei thought. It seemed like Xiao Lang always had a concrete plan before sharing it with her. She started to miss the days when he would consult her from the start.

"And the Clow? That’s a big force marching near their borders."

Maybe even through their borders, either way, it’s bound to be a problem. In the beginning, Feimei thought that Clow would be their ally. After all, her father's lifelong friendship with King Fujitaka of House Kinomoto was rivaled only by that he had with Wei. And yet that Clow Kingdom has not declared for either side. It pained her, but she understood. Their geographical standpoint would make their armies impossible to join until now. 

"I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. Most of it relies on a question if King Fujitaka remembers father as fondly as he did him, and if he remembers the offer father proposed to him a few years back."

Feimei narrowed her eyes at him. She was clearly out of the loop as to what the proposition was, but that’s beyond the point. What mattered is, it could get them allies, cavalry, infantry, grain, gold, and the support they needed in the final push. 

"You have been concocting this for some time, haven’t you?"

Xiao shrugged at the question, a smirk playing at his lips. 

"So who would lead the other front? I assume you have that planned as well."

She asked nonchalantly. Whoever he chose must be close enough for Xiao Lang to never question their loyalty, with enough military experience to command the battlefield and enough authority to lead their men without being questioned. Well wasn’t that list narrow?

"You."

Feimei stilled. Her fingers stopped tracing the carving of the wolf on the figurine. Quickly her head shot up, her eyes focusing on her brother. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She can’t leave him, can’t even imagine leaving him. She can’t leave her baby brother alone. 

Even if he didn’t resemble her sweet sibling anymore, even if he changed. She couldn’t let anything more happen to him, she couldn’t let him do this on his own. Who would make sure he didn’t overwork himself? Who would remind him to get some sleep? Who would protect him on the battlefield? Who would make sure the crown doesn’t swallow him whole?

_He doesn't need you to protect him. He hasn't for a long time_.

And yet she refused to believe that. 

"Out of question. I am not leaving you."

She said, putting the figurine down. He answered her glare with one of his own. They both had father’s eyes, Li amber. Yet they glared like their mother. 

"Believe me, I want nothing more than your support, Feimei."

He said, far too calm for her liking. Her eyes narrowed, he was being too nice, even about this. 

"If this is about me getting on your nerves…"

Xiao Lang chuckled, the sound was short and low, but somehow even this reminder of laughter put her at ease. The next time he looked at her his eyes were softer. 

"Oh you do, but no. There is just no one else who can go, who I trust as much as I trust you and Wei Sheng."

She knew, she understood, but it didn’t mean she would let this go without debate. It stretched for hours on end, at one point it was just her throwing possible candidates into the air, as they warmed up by the fireplace, and him halfheartedly negating her points while sipping on his ale. 

She agreed in the end. 

She promised to take the Northern Wave for their family.

She also promised to see him by summer’s end. 

Xiao Lang pressed the fang into her hand the day both armies departed from Lindow, leaving their mother to manage the remaining peacekeeping forces until the chaos subdued or she was called forward. Feimei looked at the fang, knowing full well that the tooth was too yellow to belong to their father. Then she took a second to read the inscription. Bai Lang Li, the Good Wolf, the greatest ruler that the Empire has seen, the Wolf who united the divided lands into what they called the Crown Lands. The one who spent his youth fighting for unity, and the rest of his life cultivating peace. The one who Feimei was always fascinated with in her youth. 

She clutched the fang in her hand, as she stepped closer, right into her little brother’s embrace. He has stopped being little years ago, she could hardly remember the time he was shorter than her. She melted into the hug, returning the embrace tenfold. Pressing her nose into his shoulder, she tried to keep the tears at bay, but to no avail. 

"We will see each other again. I promise."

She remembered those days so vividly, the last days with her family. She clung to them, kept them alive. Uniting with them became a better motivator than revenge ever was. As much as she wanted to see House Strom fall, she wanted to see her siblings much, much more. It’s the thought of them that keeps her driven when she finally takes a step back and makes her way back into the camp. 

  
  
  


Nearing dawn all Xiao Lang can smell is mud. There is no freshness left in the air. Spring leaves them so suddenly it’s almost unbearable. It’s as if it gets hotter and hotter with every breath Xiao Lang takes. He craves the cold northern summers. 

His light armor seems heavier now. Leather clings to his skin uncomfortably and his shift is moist already. Xiao Lang is in dire need of a cooling spell, and gods does he hope Sakura knows one.

The weather though is worrying, even if the humidity may signal another storm, Xiao Lang is concerned whether or not the mud will dry out. Hopefully not.

He notices Sakura overseeing the soldiers, her cape already dry, the braid falling out slightly. Her eyes scan for the markings on the armor of their soldiers she has ordered to be made more than a week ago. Just two days ago she had them checked thrice. And it seems that she is at it again. If they fail and someone is missing one, she will never be able to forgive herself. 

"Are you still counting, Sakura?"

Yun Lee asks, her tone half amused and half concerned. Kerberos emerges from behind his mistress, straightening his neck to look at them. 

"This is the tenth time today, actually."

_This is getting concerning._

"Is anyone missing the mark?"

Sakura turns around towards him. 

"It doesn’t seem so, no." 

Still, there is a worry in her expression, in the crease of her brows and the swoop of her lips. He places a hand on her shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Sakura turns to him, eyes locking his gaze. 

"You did what you could."

He understands that those words won’t bring any reassurance, but he wants her to know that her efforts won’t go unnoticed. Those are the same words he clung to when his own plans have gone haywire in the past. So he offers the same assurance to her. 

"For once I agree with the brat."

Xiao Lang almost raises a brow hearing the familiar’s remark. It’s indeed unusual for them to agree on anything.

"We could count for you, a fresh pair of eyes could be good."

His familiar offers, coming closer to her, placing her snout in arm’s reach of the Empress. Sure enough, Sakura places her hand in between her ears, scratching gently. 

"Sensing your magic from them would be quicker, but we will count all the same." 

Kerberos quickly joins in on the offer. 

"I would appreciate that, Yun Lee, Kero." 

Sakura says, a gentle expression on her face, a soft smile gracing her lips. That was enough for both familiars to run off into the camp. Not for the first time does Xiao Lang realize how much Yun Lee connected with Sakura in such a short span of time. She turns back to him and with a sigh rests her head in the space between his neck and the spaulders of his armor. He moves his hand to her hair, tracing the braids that are falling apart. 

"I just hope I won't have to use that spell." 

He doesn't want to tell her that she might have to. If the push comes to shove it might be their only hope of finishing everything swiftly so that men of the North won't have to bleed out on foreign lands anymore. He knows though that for Sakura a life is a life no matter the colors they wear, so instead, he presses a kiss to her forehead and says:

"Maybe you won’t."

Sakura steps back, her smile is barely there, dimmed by nerves. 

"Thank you for checking on me." Her voice is tight, he can only guess it’s what he sounded like before his first battle as well. Still, he hates that she is even here, no matter the advantage she brings. "Where were you going? Shouldn’t you be preparing for the battle?"

He hoped she wouldn’t ask. Maybe she would state she has other business to attend to, check on her brother perhaps. 

"I am preparing."

Sakura quirks a brow. 

"That’s all I am going to get out of you?"

"I don’t want you to see any of it." 

He has been honest with her until now, and that’s a really honest answer, dismissive as it is. Yet that quirk of a brow quickly turns into a frown. 

"Why?"

He looks her straight in the eye and says:

"Because as I recall you don’t enjoy executions." 

Sakura blinks, her frown immediately falling into an open surprise, morphing into concern quicker than he can register. Xiao Lang fully expects her to back down after that, or maybe he just hopes she will. Her gaze falls back on the soldiers, away from him. She crosses her arms on her chest, a clear sign that the topic has made her uncomfortable. 

"Who are you executing?" 

Xiao Lang bites back the urge to sigh or groan, or any medium to let out his frustration. Instead, he mirrors her gesture, folding his arms on his chest. Good, now they are both uncomfortable. 

"You are not going to drop this, are you?"

Her head shots up, frown prominent even in the curve of her lips. Her emerald eyes meet his, he can see that spark in them, the same one he saw the first time they met, the very one he has been watching everyday ever since. 

"No. So just tell me now, and be done with it." 

He should have known better than to hope she will back down. 

"Let’s go then." 

Sakura blinks at him again, releasing her cape from what has been a pretty deadly grip, judging from how crumbled the velvet is. She looks one last time at the soldiers, he sees her eyes jumping from mark to mark before following him. 

To say that their walk is tense would be an understatement. 

Xiao Lang really doesn’t want her to see this. He doesn’t want to lie to her either, not when he could be dead in a few hours. He doesn’t want her to be angry with him if this is the last he sees her. It turns out she might be either way. An impossible situation, he finds himself in those quite often. 

"I saw executions, I am a daughter of a King, of course I had to be present."

She says softly like she wants to reassure him. It’s the voice she uses when she is being careful around him. He hates that soft, melodic tone just as much as he loves it. Xiao Lang wishes she could be that soft without that lingering implication that some part of her continues to walk on eggshells around him. 

Much more he hates that he has given her the bases to do so.

And furthermore, he hates that he is about to give her more of them. 

"It’s not the same."

He says, not looking at her. They are close to the edges of the camp, where he placed the prisoners under heavy guard with short frequent shifts so the soldiers would always be sharp. 

"Execution is an execution. Either way, life is lost." 

She phrases it like he knew she would. To her, all life is precious, to her peace can be achieved solely through diplomacy and negotiation. Most of the time he forgets she is only sixteen; she was more or less sheltered all of her life. The only times she really left Tomoeda was family business or to collect the cards that were missing from the Clow. And even then she always had her family by her side. Her brother, his guard or General Tsukinawa, who sheltered her further. She had ideas of peace she thought entirely possible, ideas that to him have always been just that, ideas. 

And even now, in the middle of a war camp, she has yet to see a real war. 

Xiao Lang can’t shelter her from that, not when she is his wife, the wife of a conqueror, his partner, his Empress, his Queen, and their biggest advantage on the battlefield. 

"Execution is a punishment, Sakura, used only when another life is in danger, to ensure safety." 

He says, looking back at her.

"I understand that Syaoran. What I don’t understand is why are you acting like this." 

"Like what?"

"Like I will see you as a monster if I see this."

Xiao Lang stops, the mud splashes on his shoes. They are already here, at the edge of the camp that is being patrolled constantly. Just three tents down lies the reason he has been called a tyrant, a despot, an oppressor. And he can’t even deny those charges. Because he has been a monster to his enemies, he has shown no mercy and he continues on that path. There is shame there, deep inside, but it's one he can live with as long as his family and his people are safe. As long as the Empire is secure because of it. 

"You might." 

He looks back at her, unsure. To his complete surprise, he is met with a frown. 

"I am actually getting bored of this narrative, you know?" 

She tells him, and all he can do is blink. All of her body language is open now, her hands on her hips, head tilted to the side. He is speechless, really. She steps closer to him and all he can do is keep his eyes on her when she takes both of his cheeks in her hands. 

Soft, always so soft. 

"You have literally threatened to kill someone in gruesome detail a few hours ago, and I am still here. I have told you this before Syaoran, I will stay by your side." 

They have been through this before, he remembers that, of course he remembers that. A big part of him clings to her reassurances, to the idea that she will accept him despite the horrible things he will be forced to do for them, their lives and their positions. Yet it’s another thing to say those things and another to see him like that. 

"Now, have some faith in me, alright?"

There was someone once who promised to be by his side through thick and thin, who claimed to love him. They left when everything began to be too complicated, and once the war started, it was over. And even if his heart had been healed for a long time, some doubt remained. He didn’t think about that for a long time.

Certainly not since he got married. 

And there is Sakura, who seemed to acknowledge the Emperor in him, choosing to focus her affection and trust on Syaoran instead. It is bizarre to think about how easy it is for her to separate them, despite knowing they are the same person. Perhaps one day he will ask her how she does it, maybe even one day he will understand. For now, he simply appreciates it. 

"Alright."

He says, taking her hands off his cheeks and instead embracing them in his own palms. Sakura’s brows knit, and she watches him with those bright emerald eyes of hers with such concern he can almost believe that she will stand with him no matter what. 

  
  
  


The first thing that repulses her is the smell. 

She can't even begin to describe the absolute stench that occupies the dim tent. Absolutely everything makes it out, but the feces seem to be the most prominent. Sakura is just glad she couldn’t eat much for breakfast anyway because that meal would have been wasted. 

The tent is in reality a covering for a large cage taking up almost all of the space. There is a single guard sitting on a stool outside of it, who gets up as soon as Syaoran first enters, but Sakura is more focused on the people inside to really notice him. Three of them paint a miserable picture of war prisoners, tied to the pillars, which hold up the tent. It is a hazardous move, but looking at the state of them, Sakura knows they are only awaiting death at this point. 

One looks more healthy than the other two, and even that is a stretch. He is still relatively clean, but his fingers are twisted, his whole face bruised, eyes almost grown shut with bruising. He twitches at the sight of the Emperor. Prayers interlaced with pleadings leave his lips constantly. 

The other two are a much different story. One only smiled at the sight of them, his head falling back. Although he was similarly mutilated his scars had time to heal. He must know what Syaoran is here for. The other barely reacted, if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest Sakura would think he is already dead. He is by far in the worst shape. One of his arms is missing, and by the amount of blood faded on his shirt, she knows that it had been the consequence of his capture, not a previous injury. His face is bruised, yellow on his cheeks and aggressively purple around his jaw. Once again, he doesn’t even react. 

Contrary to Sakura. 

This, all of this, mutilated fingers, wounds, bruising, dismemberment, all this fear, all this suffering came at the hands of one man, one standing right next to her. 

She keeps staring at them, and the realization as to why exactly he didn’t want her to see this finally hits. Even if she knew, was told of his knack for torture, he himself told her of the measures he has to take, seeing his victims is a completely different thing. Witnessing first hand what kind of suffering he is capable of inflicting is more than she bargained for. But she can’t back away now, for all it would do is confirm his fears, and she will inevitably lose the trust she worked so hard on gaining. 

"Yer Grace, for ya." The guard, one she in her bewilderment didn’t notice approaching, speaks out hesitantly with a thick accent she remembers hearing in Lord Seol’s voice, only this one is much, much thicker. Instinctively she turns to him, noticing that even hunched down the man is quite broad and tall, imposing even. He passes a white handkerchief to her, a piece of embroidered cloth but kept spotless, fresh even in these conditions. Clearly it’s a prized possession, perhaps a token from back home. "To help with the smell." 

"Thank you."

Sakura says, hesitantly picking up the handkerchief having noticed that he took great care of it so she should as well. She can’t fathom how he can part with it simply to ease a discomfort she didn’t even voice. She is grateful nonetheless and forces herself to smile despite the circumstances.

Syaoran is already stepping inside of the cage as she presses the cloth to her face. It does very little in terms of smell, but it’s still something. The first one whimpers, trying to shuffle as far away as he can, but the shackles are tight and there is nowhere else to go. The other two just look, staring at Syaoran as if they are greeting death with open arms. Sakura doesn’t know who she pities more. 

Her husband approaches the third one first. The prisoner’s head lulls to the side in the effort to look up in the slightest. But he does so either way, meets the Emperor’s gaze with those empty silver eyes, and keeps it. His lips start to move, but his face scrunches in pain immediately, the bruising on his jaw is too severe to let him speak. 

"This one was sent to kill me." The Thunder Wolf says, looking back at her, his expression closed off, Syaoran shut tight behind a mask. "You were probably his next target."

He moves then, onto the next one, who doesn’t meet his eyes, instead he looks at her. His breathing is off, as if every intake is painful, broken ribs perhaps. Even if she dissected each injury it wouldn’t make it any easier to look at or think about the fact that these are his last minutes. 

"He has been sending information to Robert’s camp. Messages that we are now sending." 

That gets her attention, momentary making her able to avoid the gaze of the dying man. She meets her husband’s eyes instead, there it is again, this emotionless gaze. She didn’t miss it one bit.

"False information?"

Syaoran nods in response to her question. 

"Everything from the numbers, to the allies, everything as wrong as it can get so we can make them as confident as we can without arousing suspicion." 

The principle of the technique is somewhat familiar to her. Make your rival overconfident, make them think they have the upper hand, use as little of your cards as possible, and then strike when they feel they have won. She has always used it in trade, rather than warfare. 

The first prisoner still wails in the corner of the cell, the pleads have died down since they first entered, but they are made all the same. He begs over and over, to the point that the word has started to lose its meaning. Unlike the other two, she saw no mark of an assassin’s guild anywhere on his skin. 

"And him?"

She asks, making Syaoran turn towards the last prisoner. The wailing stops immediately when their gazes meet. The features she thought were harsh on the ruler just became colder than ocean water during a harsh winter. He snarls at him, holding his gaze, until the man cowers, lowering his head until his chin lays on his chest. The wailing turns into weeping. 

"That one," Syaoran starts, his voice shaky, anger sipping through every syllable. "was one of our own, a turncloak, and he was here specifically for you. Mihara tracked him down, and I gave him a few hours of my time."

A turncloak, a traitor, the highest dishonor one could bring to their own lineage, those were executed on sight as no one would trust them again, at least not in polite society. The reality was much different from that. 

The way he spits the words is almost lost on her. His anger is being consumed by the constant pleads, the wailing, the sheer fact that he is here, in this cell because of her. She can almost overlook the fact that hasn’t it been for all of this she would have probably died at his hands. A single fact remains in her mind at that moment; It’s a life she could save. 

"If he is here for me, then… Then I should have the right to give him mercy. As we discussed."

Syaoran’s brows arch, disappearing in his messy bangs for a second, before the words really sink in, only then do they come back down, only lower than before. The background pleads turn into words of gratitude as her husband approaches her in a few strides. The Emperor stands before her, almost looming. His eyes are a cold copper as he holds her gaze. He has never looked at her like that, like he is on a verge of breaking, barely holding the rage in. She can see it in a way his jaw moves constantly, setting and resetting, the friction of the bite keeping him sane. 

"No. Sakura, no." He says, reaching out for her. Sakura flinches, expecting the grip to be as harsh as his gaze. Instead, she is met with the gentle touch she is so accustomed to. He holds her arms loosely enough for her to know that she can step back anytime she wants to, but steadily enough to gather her whole attention. "Not now and definitely not for him."

The touch is such a stark contrast to his cold tone and it confuses her to no end. Still, she has to try. She can save this life, and maybe this will set him on the right path, maybe it’s the one act of mercy he needs.

"He is here for me."

She matches his stubbornness, trying not to back down at the sudden change in his demeanor. He never acts like this around her, tending to be distant when angry or overwhelmed. Sakura can tell he is trying to control himself by the way he holds onto her, and a part of her is still waiting for him to snap, bracing herself for the moment she pushes him over the edge. 

"That's the point." The Emperor says, still as calm as it gets, his gaze warming up a bit. His hands slide gently from her arms to her elbows, their touch becoming steady again. Eyes a cold copper, he forces her to meet his gaze. "I could let it slide if he were meant for me, even if frankly it makes no sense to let any of them go, but especially him."

There it is, a tint of warmth, a crack in the mask. And she just has to push. Even if by now she knows she grasps at the traitor’s life simply to save her own conscience, she is just too damn focused on the pleads to notice that. 

"Don't be ridiculous Syaoran. You are the irreplaceable one here."

She states trying to pour all of her stubbornness into it, even if she feels like she is headbutting a wall at this point. For a moment Syaoran’s brows arch, before he blinks, and the mask slams back on. His grip becomes tighter, yet still not nearly enough to be uncomfortable. 

"I am being ridiculous?" His question is all but calm, even if he doesn’t even raise his voice, she can feel that he wants to. What he says next cuts deeper than anything he could yell in blind rage ever could. "When was the last time you bled? Do you think I haven't noticed?"

Her eyes widen, mouth opening to say something but not even a breath comes out. For a moment she only stares, eyes locked in a gaze with his. She feels herself go stiff in his grip, muscles tense against the hold of his arms. 

_He noticed, of course he noticed_. 

A part of her hoped that like all men he wouldn’t be perceptive to such things, and yet here they are. She should have expected that, after all for them a child is a matter of utmost importance, a means to stop a civil war from happening. Of course, he would be keeping track. 

She takes a breath, an unsteady one, given that she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, her mouth becomes dry as her nose tingles. She can’t cry here, she can’t. And she can’t admit to herself that he is right. 

"It's too early to tell."

She says instead, her voice unsteady. Syaoran’s eyes soften immediately, mask cracking yet again at her own display of emotion. 

"I know. But even this mare probability makes you a priority in terms of the Empire. And even without that… Never think that you are not a priority to me." 

Once again she remembers what he said to her on that meadow. What he does, he does for them to be safe, for their family to be safe. And they can’t be safe when a man who tried to murder her is free. She knows that, she does.

It’s an argument already lost. And if things go south in a matter of hours she might have many more lives on her conscience… or maybe she will have a dead husband. No, that won’t happen, she can’t let that happen, even if she will lose herself trying to stop it. 

"I know, but…"

He cuts her off before she can say anything. His eyes are warm this time, but from the slight change in his tone, she knows that affection is not the cause of the change, at least not directly. 

"Are you willing to take that gamble Sakura? Are you willing to let him go, knowing he could turn around and kill you? Kill our child?"

_No._

_No, she won’t._

Her mind whispers immediately. 

That’s the simple answer, but life is never simple. It’s cruel. Just as he is right now, asking her that question to begin with. And he is right. She can’t grant that mercy, she shouldn’t. It’s a horrifying moment when she admits to herself that she will have that man killed thrice over if that means in a few months time she will hold her child, safe and sound. 

She can’t be the merciful Empress she hoped herself to be. She can’t grant mercy on a whim. Not when it endangers her family. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

And certainly not to the man that threatens the life of her family. 

"Just do it."

She says, closing her eyes, gritting her teeth, praying to all Gods she won’t let herself crumble in front of him. She thought it would be easier, letting him do this in such circumstances, knowing what’s at stake. It isn’t. An execution is an execution. A life will be lost because a man took an order to end her life. It was his choice, and that choice will end his life instead of hers. 

Syaoran’s hand caresses her cheek, putting another stray strand behind her ear. She opens her eyes on instinct, meeting his gaze. It’s gentle again. Like a first spring sun after the harshest of winters. It’s confusing to no end, but she can’t help but lean against his touch. 

"You can leave. You don’t have to see this."

He reminds her again, eyes warm, tone calm. The change between the Emperor and Syaoran is striking and again she doesn’t know what to feel about it. It’s starting to be too confusing to separate them both, to hold them as separate entities, instead of the two sides of the same coin. The one thing she knows is that she can’t run from that anymore. Ilyanna Blackwood told her to separate them, but she never said to run away from them, to blind herself to one side of her husband and favour another. She has to accept them if she wants to ever love him. Needs to come to terms with both Syaoran and the Emperor while she still has time to do so. 

"No, I do."

She tells him, staring as his eyes harden while holding her gaze. The Emperor doesn’t answer, instead he lets go of her and nods. 

The dagger he takes out from his belt is similar to the one she has strapped to her thigh, an heirloom he had given to her for safekeeping. Whether it is supposed to keep her safe or vice versa, is still a mystery in itself. Dark, damascus steel shines even in such dim light as Syaoran rotates it in his hand.

The blade slices through the throat in one clean cut. There is a struggle here, the hands grab at his forearms as the blood flows and flows. Quick, efficient, relatively painless in comparison to what the man has been through. 

She can barely look, but she can’t look away either. Horrified and transfixed at the same time. She could have saved this man if she only said yes. But then she thinks of a child she may hold under her heart, and the thought quickly disappears. 

She can’t help but think that those very same fingers that hold the head steady as the body bleeds out, tucked her bangs out of her face before kissing her, every time without fail. 

Gentle yet so skilled in the art of death.

The body drops, and he moves to the next. That man welcomes death with a smile on his dried out lips. 

Once again, the very same fingers she intertwines with hers when she is searching for something solid in her new chaotic life, bring death. 

The third one doesn’t struggle, no, but his eyes are wide open when the Emperor takes his bruised jaw in his hands to steady his neck. And they fall on her. There is no fear there, in fact, his eyes hold absolutely nothing. No emotion whatsoever, he is just looking, no spite, no final words, not even a gasp. He looks as the blade sides into his neck, as the blood gushes around him, as his eyes lose focus and his body drops to the ground. He stares even in death, and Sakura can’t avoid that gaze. She can’t look away, she stares into those lifeless grey eyes with nothing but panic in her mind. 

What should she feel? Three men have been murdered, executed right in front of her eyes by the man she swore her life to. A man who slowly wormed his way into her heart, who warned her who he was, and yet, she tried her best to look past that, no matter how much he wanted her not to. And finally, finally she faced the demon. And? And…

It’s for her family to be safe, she reminds herself to no avail. 

_She is going to be sick._

Sakura raises her gaze at him. His dark armor shines with blood even in this light. The blade doesn’t shine anymore, steel coated dark red, dripping from his gloves, to the hilt and down the blade, flowing and flowing. There are droplets of it that have fallen onto his face, and that is what finally sends her, the closed off expression, the empty look in his eyes, it all tells her one thing. It has not shaken him, certainly not in the way taking a life should. 

_She is going to be sick._

Bile rises in her throat just as tears well in her eyes. She needs air, she needs to get out. So she does, storming out of the tent without looking back. 

The fresh air hits her and almost instantly she bows down and vomits. She is not even sure if it’s the smell, the sight or the combination of both that has pushed her over the edge. She is just sure that she has to give it to Syaoran. She didn’t want to see that. Any of that. 

"I told you, you shouldn’t have seen that." 

Syaoran’s voice rings behind her as she tries to compose her breath for the dry heaving to stop. She keeps her focus on the horizon, where deep navy clouds are already gathering, and below them an army, Robert’s army.

He is right, she tells herself as she cleans herself up with a bit of cloth she was given earlier. He is also wrong. She needed to see that, to finally see that. She needed to come crushing with reality instead of glorifying one part of him while completely ignoring the other. Syaoran and Emperor Xiao Lang are one person. They are one, and they always will be. 

And this is just one of the atrocities he committed for the country, for the people. It’s only the first one he committed for her. _I will kill for you,_ he once said, and he made good on these words. 

Her hand drops to her stomach as she starts thinking how many weeks have passed since she was due. Two? Three? Yet another person to protect, to kill for. Those people she just watched die could have one day come to kill him, as they had before, come for her, for the child she might as well carry, for the family she hopes to build. 

And in his brutal and unforgiving way, Syaoran is protecting her, them, all that he holds dear. 

_Don’t you dare run you coward._ She tells herself. Don’t give in to his fears, don’t push him away, for you will lose him before you even fully have him. 

He is doing what he thinks is right, what he has to. For them. 

And they have once established that she will be the merciful one in this marriage, so that she shall be. Even if sometimes she can’t. Maybe she will redirect that mercy to him. Forgive him, unburden him, be the pillar of the Emperor Yelan wanted her to be. 

Sakura rises back up, cleaning herself as quickly as she can. 

"No, I had to see that." She looks back at him and she meets the gaze of the broken man. So different from the mask of the Emperor. His chin is held high, blood stained his cheeks, his neck, his armor, the very image of the Thunder Wolf and yet… she doesn’t miss the look of utter confusion on his face, a brief snippet of hope that appeared when she turned back. "And as I said before, I am not going anywhere."

She can hear it, the breath he lets out when the words rang between them. She can see it as well, when his shoulders sag, and the mask cracks open, shattering before her eyes. She is left with Syaoran again. A small _thank you_ leaves his lips so faintly she knows he doesn’t truly believe her. 

Sakura takes a step towards him, ignoring the fact that his armor is completely stained with blood, even going as far as to ignore his blood stained cheeks as she takes them in her gloved hands. His amber eyes almost shine as he holds her gaze. 

"I didn’t like that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand, nor does that mean I will back down on my word. I am with you, for as long as you are with me." 

She will stay with him, she will, not even truly out of obligation. She will stay because she wants to. She loves the attention he gives her, the power he grants her. She loves listening to his voice in the mornings still laced with sleep, the rare laughs, the hushed tone when they are intimate. She likes being his wife, being the Empress, she likes Syaoran, and could love him if she is given time. 

The memories of her lilac filled dreams come back to her, and dread surges through her body before she dismisses it. It won’t happen. It’s not a prophecy, it’s only a dream, one she won’t let come to life.

His bloody hands clasp over hers, but she is too focused on his gaze to notice the blood, only the sensation of his hands on hers. 

"I am with you, I will be with you for as long as you will want me."

_Forever then_ she wants to utter, but that commitment is too strong for her right now. It’s stronger than the golden bands on their ring fingers, stronger than his name and titles forever attached to her. It would be her request, her want, not a political move, not even attachment. It would be admitting how fond of him she has grown. And she isn’t quite ready for that, not after what she has just seen. So instead she asks: 

"Well now I want you to rebraid my hair, would you?"

His sorrowful face cracks in an instant, as he huffs out a laugh. 

"Of course."

It will be a moment, just for them to cherish, knowing full well they might not see tomorrow. 

  
  
  


They owned the Mountain Hold largely to Renshu’s spies. The people who started meddling with the castle affairs, who sabotaged the food storages, the sewer systems, meddling and meddling, making the short siege impossible for the Laveys. Even so, Feimei has to admit it was too short for the Laveys not to have some hidden agenda. Or maybe they have found the first defector. Robert’s army did leave the North defenseless, yet Galene Strom was in the seat of power here too short for that to break the loyalty to her maiden House. Nothing would make Feimei defect from Xiao Lang after all, nothing, not even her own husband. Maybe Galene Strom was different, or maybe it was a trap. 

They prepared for both. 

The sound of the soldiers’ hard soiled shoes echoed in the corridors as they kept securing the castle, placing the Imperial green sigils over the ones of House Lavey. Feimei opted out of any formal wear, instead keeping only the light emerald cloak secured around the middle of her chest and flowing behind freely but not restricting any movement. She also kept the fang on her cloak. Those two things alone represented her status as a member of the Imperial royal family. 

Feimei decided to keep her spear hidden, the summoning spell is simple enough and it would make a rather hostile impression to barge into surrender talks with it in hand. She trusts herself to be quick enough.

A servant leads them to Rowen’s and Galene’s private rooms. Wei Sheng takes a moment to brush her hair out of her shoulders, possibly remembering how she preferred to wear it back home. She only manages a small smile in return before the doors are opened. 

"Presenting her Imperial Highness Princess Feimei of House Li, elder sister of His Majesty the Emperor, and her husband General Wei Sheng of House Hua."

The room is large, but simple. Navy curtains half cover the windows. Mahogany carved furniture are set with decorations of the same colouring. Dark carpets lying on the stone floors are all made with the motives of the House. And in the middle of the room sit four chairs, two pairs opposite of each other. One pair is occupied, the one opposite empty. Four guards stand near the walls, matching the other five flooding the room after them. 

Rowen Lavey sits on one of the occupied chairs, his dark red hair swept back, green eyes falling onto the newcomers. He is clad in a dark navy doublet, completed with a pair of light pants and elegant boots, clearly he wasn't expecting a fight. Next to him sits his wife, whose hand he clutched tightly. 

At first glance Galene Strom looks like a very image of a Dola**. Like everything Feimei imagines a spirit of a fate looks like. Draped in black, but so sickly pale that her skin clashes with the fabric even more than the white blonde of her hair. The dark circles under her eyes are prominent, the red in her whites is unmistakable next to the cerulean of her irises. Feimei recognizes that look, she has seen it so many times. On her sisters as well as on herself. Viviane of House Tide was her twin, and a casualty of the sack of Lindow. She burned to death, trapped in the fire that devoured the keep. 

For Feimei it was much too long to still wear black, but the loss is fresh enough for the Wave Princess. A black silk dress clad her body, a black shawl is draped on her shoulders and arms, black ribbons are weaved into her white-blonde hair. Her eyes lock their gaze on Feimei as the Princess and General make their way to sit opposite of them.

"Princess, General… The Mountain Hold is yours."

Says Rowen in a calm tone, much more calm and dignified if she would have been in his position. Feimei crosses her legs and leans back in the chair holding her back high, reminding herself how her mother always looked when she sat on the throne. The very image of regality. 

"Thank you, Lord Rowen." Feimei says courtly. "Now, let us cut to the chase, we both know you could have lasted another month."

"You are quite impatient, Princess."

Rowen notices, to which Feimei barely shrugs. 

"A family trait, believe me."

Weisheng says, and Feimei doesn’t even argue. At times it feels like only Fudie has inherited their mother’s patience, the rest of the siblings are as hot headed as their father even if over the years they learned how to control their temper. Rowen should be thankful it’s her lack of patience he is dealing with and not her brother’s. Xiao Lang tended to have a cruel streak to him when it came to their enemies. 

"Our forces are not with Robert." 

_So that they know_ , she wondered just how far their knowledge stretched. 

"Are they not on their way here?"

Feimei asks, knowing fully that there are absolutely no reports of the armies being here, or anywhere near this region. If they are somewhere it’s likely on their way back to Robert’s side. 

"You know they are not." Rowen continuous, his expression tightening. "Where is my father?"

_So that they don’t know_ , then again it’s hard to be informed about the outside world while being under a siege. Good, they have to use that. 

"On his way to my brother's camp, in quite fetching shackles."

Feimei says it so nonchalantly she almost wants to smack herself. They have learned the hard way to always act superior when you have even the slightest upper hand against your opponents. Pity in those situations will lead you nowhere if not make you lose the advantage you were so sure of. 

Her words change the room immediately. The tension that was here before seemed to double. Rowen’s tense expression turns into shock before closing in again. Yet the tight grip he keeps on the armrest shows his anger clearly. Galene moves, her expression morphing as well, the crease already present in her brows deepens. Feimei can see her biting on her cheek to keep her eyes from tearing up. She moves her hand, the one not intertwined with her husband’s to his forearm in a comforting gesture.

"Will he be executed?"

The concern is evident in her voice even if she tries to keep her tone calm. They could use that. 

"That can be negotiated."

Weisheng states simply. 

The front even with all her poise crumbles quickly. It becomes clear as day that Galene has taken to her new family, her husband and father-in-law, perhaps for some reason that loyalty may be stronger than that to her father. 

Rowen is better at keeping his facade than his wife, but his relief shows when he finally let’s go of the armrest. His tone is clear when he speaks next. 

"Then let's negotiate."

Feimei needs to keep herself from smiling. Their whole plan for this was based on the assumption that Edrick Lavey was a good father, a man his children would do anything for, not someone to be thrown away for power. It seems that they weren’t wrong. 

"The Emperor and I share a belief that no one can hold this region as your House does. We can't let Edrick be the head of your House and we can't let him stay here either. Yet we do recognize that your loyalty is lost to us if he dies at our hands."

Hatred only brings hatred, and Laveys don’t have much to do with the death of their father. They were loyal bannermen answering the call of their liege, to which they were bound by blood. And he abandoned them in turn. 

"Banishment."

Galene states simply, but you can’t miss the slight slack of her shoulders. 

"Yes, banishment, preferably deep into the Crown lands, maybe Imeriti, the point is, away from here."

Xiao Lang will probably want him in the Crown Lands, perhaps deep in the Tundra where Sheifa holds power. 

"I understand." 

Galene lets out a breath with these words. Rowen on the other hand straightens back in his chair, still holding his wife’s hand but there is something more practical in his gaze this time around. 

"So that’s your deal? My father’s life and my family’s lands for our perpetual loyalty to the Empire?"

Feimei smiles, leaning in, her gaze locked with the young Lord’s.

"No. Not to the Empire. To the House of Li."

They are in a careful position here, a great conquest, three more regions added to the Empire and yet the Empire itself hasn’t been this unstable for hundreds of years. Ever since their uncle died, leaving only his daughter left with the name Li, Xiao Lang has been the only male heir of their line. Fudie’s son has been Xiao Lang’s heir upon his ascension to the throne, but that wasn’t enough to ensure no civil war. People will flock to different sides, to Fudie’s son, to Domomir Griffin, maybe even to Mei Ling, some might even call upon older relations, some might want independence, all for a lack of any living man with the Li surname. In another world, the throne would simply be passed to Fudie and that would be it, but not even their father could convince the Lords to back him in the creation of such law. 

She doubted there would ever be such a time. 

So they needed to prepare for that.

"You will hold this region as long as a descendant of Xiao Lang, or the one who he chooses to succeed him, rules in Xi’an*** and shall there ever be any dispute regarding the succession you will always side with the House of Li."

If the new Wards swear only to Xiao Lang and his own heir, it would give them an edge they need should the unthinkable happen. She doesn’t even want to think about it, yet she needs to plan for it. Needs to plan for the possibility that her brother might die childless, that the entire Li bloodline will die with him. So she does, even if it makes her sick to think about it. 

"Done."

The decision is swift, but there is no doubt in Rowen’s green eyes as he holds her gaze. 

"You are a quick decision maker, Lord Rowen."

"Well, the alternative is you kill us both now. Besides, Robert abandoned us, he abandoned both of his daughters, right now we owe nothing to him." 

And should the House of Li really fall they might have their independence back. But that doesn’t concern Feimei that much, she will be dead before that happens. What matters is securing Xiao Lang’s throne or, when push comes to shove, her nephew’s.

Feimei rises from her chair, and following her lead Rowen does the same. 

"We will be back come morning, with a treaty for you to sign, Lord Rowen. After which you will declare your House’s perpetual loyalty to my brother’s line for the whole continent to know."

They clasp hands in a formal handshake.

"Of course, your Highness, General."

Before they even move to leave, Feimei reminds herself of something, her eyes immediately falling on the Lady of the castle.

"One more thing. Lady Galene, your sister’s remains are being transported to Aegan as we speak. I hope your mother can find comfort in that." 

Galene blinks at her, her blue eyes tear up before she can even think to stop them. Her lower lip trembles slightly before she presses her lips together and says something Feimei won’t be able to shake off for quite some time. 

"I doubt she will even care, but I do. Thank you, Your Highness." 

  
  


The treaty is signed the next day. House Lavey and with it the entire North of Wave belongs to the Empire now, and with that Feimei’s promise is fulfilled. 

The sigil of a gray wolf on the sea of emerald flutters quietly in the hale just above the dark gray and navy sigil of House Lavey. It’s a painfully under climactic moment but long ago Feimei realized that moments of great value to the world tend to be much less grand than the history books make them out to be. No fanfare, just one man signing a signature on a document and a flock of people in the room clapping. 

At least it’s done. 

"Your Highness, can I have a moment of your time?"

Galene Strom is wearing gray today for which House no one can be sure of, but maybe that’s the whole point of it. She looks much calmer now than she did the day before, despite the dark circles and bloodshot eyes still being there. It takes Feimei a moment to realize that it’s the look in her eyes that changed, in her sorrow it seems that the Lady has found her goal. 

"Of course." 

They are watching the sigils flutter together in the wind from the inner ramparts the castle’s great hall is attached to, a different room than yesterday. The Lords and Generals are still inside, the atmosphere is drastically less tense than it had been moments ago, and judging from the barrels of wine being transported in, it is about to change even more so. 

"Are you close with your siblings, Your Highness?"

Feimei smiles, the Lady of the North is surely getting somewhere with this but Feimei doesn’t intend to rush her, even if to have an excuse not to get inside any time soon. The air is cooler here, the strong hale almost reminds her of home. 

"Yes, very much so. I have always been closest to Xiao Lang though."

Galene’s light brows rise, a shadow of a smile playing at her lips. 

"Really, not with your sisters?"

"Don’t get me wrong, I love my sisters to bits, but Xiao Lang and I have more in common. I often could get out of the Keep if I was accompanying him on a hunt, or out of sewing lessons if I trained with him. We grew together more than anything." She answers honestly as she has no reason to lie. That is not in any way shape or form a relevant information to use against her, and Galene clearly has a point she wants to make. "And you? From your reaction I assume it is the opposite."

Galene nods, a brief wide smile appears on her face, before disappearing quickly. Her gaze focuses beyond the ramparts, onto the city stretching below, her domain. 

"Yes. I was always closest to my sisters." 

An obvious topic, frankly the only one she could approach the Princess for. How many sisters did Galene have left? Three? _Four_ , she corrects herself, the youngest son of Robert has a twin sister, doesn’t he? A babe, maybe a spring old. 

"You want us to spare them, don’t you?"

Galene turns back to her quickly, the blonde waterfall of her hair hits her back like a whiplash. Those were her mother’s hair, not a Strom black curls her lineage is known for. But her eyes when she locked their gazes once more, a stubborn gaze of storm blue. Those were a Strom trait. 

Her face remains soft though, a complete opposite to her gaze. It would seem that when broken, the Princess was just a shadow of herself. Feimei was right to think that she has found her purpose and that reignited the fire that has died out with her twin sister. 

"Wouldn’t you? Had the roles been reversed."

The question is honest, no malice in her voice despite the edge to her gaze. Feimei can’t help but smirk at her, that woman deserves an honest answer. 

"Without a doubt."

Better yet, her new purpose could help their cause, even more Galene cares to realize. 

"Their fate is in their hands, Lady Lavey. We can only hope that they will make the right choice."

They talk a few moments more, but that conversation is all that Feimei needed. Albeit knowingly Galene has given Feimei an interesting card to be dealt with. The young Princesses, the sisters Galene is adamant to keep alive, are still in Aegan under the care of an apparently apathetic mother. They could use that. 

This unknowingly Lady Galene will make sure of. 

  
  
  


Sakura can hear the muted rumble of thunder when they leave their tent, perhaps for the last time. Sakura looks up into the cloudy sky and takes a deep breath. A storm is coming, she can practically taste the charge in the air. By the look Syaoran gives her she knows he feels it too, the Gods seem to favour them on this day. 

They spend their last moments before the battle in their tent. She took to polishing the swords, the blades lying in her lap as she made sure the steel was ready. Syaoran sat behind her, his gloves abandoned as his fingers worked on the many braids he weaved into her hair. Yen Lee and Kerberos laid on the bed beside them, as quiet as their masters. In the silence they grew calm. Sakura was too afraid to break it, afraid to even touch on the matters they dealt with today, not in the face of a battle, maybe minutes away.

If she were to lose him this is what she wants to remember. The gentle touch of his skilled fingers, the dull fragrance of the polishing oils, his warm gaze when she turns back to him, a quiet reassurance he makes before the horn sounds. _I will come back to you, as I promised._ His tone as he says those words as she fixes the bracelet on his wrist, magic steady and strong in the ribbons and strands. She wants to remember the sweet kiss he placed on her lips after the deafening roar of the horns sounds again. She wished she could get more of those kisses, she wished someone could assure her in that moment that he will return to her, safe and sound. 

She wished someone could take that nightmare away. Once more she prays for the Gods to take her foresight away, she wishes it but a nightmare, hoping for it constantly as she steps out of the tent. 

Touya stands outside, right next to Yukito and she strides to them immediately, opening her arms so she can embrace both of them in a tight hug they quickly reciprocate. For a moment she feels like a little girl again, safe in her brothers’ arms. There is not much to say besides her wishful thinking. She checks on their marks thrice over and makes them swear they will take care of each other out there. There is no doubt in her mind that they will. 

Qiang hands her Snow’s rains before moving onto his own mare, right behind Syaoran. She climbs onto the saddle. The war drums sound in the distance as the Empress takes out her staff, the spell rising wind around them as the card flows into her hands meeting the beak. It’s about imagination, she heard as a little girl, it’s her imagination that makes this card as powerful as it is. She knows it won’t let her down now. If it does, all is lost. 

Yet she feels it in the reduction of her magical power, and can hear it in the change of the drums. Her companions can as well. Yukito only smiles, Touya nods at her with the proud look in his eyes. Syaoran rises in his saddle as if he can see it, not hear the change. The look he gives her is pure astonishment. She answers it with a smile. The first phase of their plan is going smoothly thus far, keeping it that way is the truly challenging part. 

They urge their horses into a trot and smoothly into a canter. Sakura listens to the strong beat of the drums as they approach the edge of the camp and further out, between the lines of ready infantry and cavalry, the colorful mosaic of sigils joined under one banner, the wolf of House Li. Syaoran slows down when they approach the beginning of the lines, the Generals already gathered at the front lines with their greatest allies, all already in place, knowing their part in this. 

Sakura focuses on the still heavy beat of magic she is constantly giving out. They need to start this, and they need to do it quickly. 

The first thunder roars and immediately Sakura turns to the image of the fading lighting that has crossed the sky. There, on the horizon, under the navy clouds of an approaching storm, stands the enemy. An army vast and strong, a sea of white and blue sigils rises against them and its head is a figure. A man clad in shining silver armor, so polished it almost looks snow white, sat atop an equally white horse. 

Robert Strom. 

  
  
  


* Aegean - literally Aegean Sea (an embayment of Mediteranean Sea) here the Capital of the Wave Kingdom. Also on that note; did you notice the pattern in the names of the Wave Princesses?

**Dola is believed to be a protective spirit or (more likely) a goddess strongly connected with the cult of Mokosh or Peperuna (Perun’s wife) who coincidentally has also been known under the name Dodola. She is often perceived as a young somber woman. Dola is similar to the Roman goddess Fortuna as they both deal with a person's fortune. Previously I have spoken about Rodzanice, the daughters of Rod who are similar to the Greek fates. The notion of Dola and Rodzanice is deeply intertwined in the slavic culture and they may have been once one and the same, or perhaps their existence depended on the region of Eastern Europe you were in (both are depicted weaving threads, and both are responsible for the fate of a person). Dola must have been more prominent in the region that is modern Poland simply because the very word _dola_ means fate in Polish (although we have more used synonyms). Coincidently the word _niedola_ ( _nie_ means no, so it literally translates to no fate) means misery, so the people of the time might have thought that their misfortune is the wrath of the spirit or her disappointment with the person. 

***Xi’an is an ancient Capital of China, and one of the oldest cities. It was home to thirteen different dynasties in Chinese history and a starting point to the Silk Road, one of the most important trading routes of the time. I thought it would be a nice reference to name the Empire’s Capital after it, even though the story and much of the world building is European oriented with the slavic religious beliefs being the christianity of this world. I wouldn’t dare to go deeper on this though as I am not in any way shape or form knowledgeable on the subject. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you are all healthy and hanging tight! This year has been absolutely horrid so I hope you can forgive me for taking so long to write this :( Anyway I hope you will enjoy Perun and that it will take your mind off of everything even for a moment :) 
> 
> This work is beta'd by wonderful andrec02 and kuroi-kotoba, please check them out on tumblr!
> 
> My tumblr: anathash or wikapikadraws - here i will be posting some drawings and sketches for this AU. If you have any questions, don't be shy and just ask :)


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